ÉLEGY V.

WRITTEN AMONG THE TOMBS IN

WESTMINSTER ABBEY,

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HAIL, hallow'd Fane! amid whose mould'ring shrines,
Her vigils musing Melancholy keeps,
Upon her arm her harrow'd cheek reclines,]
And o'er the spoils of human grandeur weeps.

Hail, awful edifice thine isles along,

In contemplation wrapt, O let me stray!
And stealing from the idly busy throng,
Serenely meditate the moral lay.

Far hence be banish'd every note profane,

Where heav'n-inspir'd Devotion loves to raise
Her voice seraphic to each lofty strain,

Attun'd to celebrate Jehovah's praise.

Frei Come, heavenly muse, awake the plaintive string,

Each vagrant motion of the mind control;

Exalt my fancy on thy soaring wing,

And with thy pathos pure possess my soul.

What pleasing sadness fills my thoughtful breast,
Whene'er my steps these vaulted mansions trace;
Where in their silent tombs for ever rest

The honor'd ashes of the British race!

What eye can read without a starting tear,
What heart reflect without a pensive sigh,
On the same story, every marble here

Relates of wretched man's mortality?

Here terminate Ambition's airy schemes,

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The syren Pleasure here allures no more; Here grov❜ling Av'rice drops her golden dreams, And Life's fantastic trifles all are o'er.

No furious passions here the bosom rend,

Here the true mourner's poignant sorrows cease Here hopeless love and cruel hatred end,

And the world-weary trav❜ler rests in peace.

Approach, vain child of fortune, pow'r and fame,
Here learn a lesson from each speaking bust:]
Lo! on each tomb engrav'd the empty name

Of worldly greatness levell'd in the dust!

How high each persʼnage once, how honor'd! read;
How low! how little now, look down and see!

Then scan thyself-and know it is decreed,

That thou as little and as low shalt be.

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Behold! above yon monumental piles,

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The king of terrors reigns in awful state!
And from his throne surveys with ghastly smiles
His triumphs over all the world calls great:

Surveys of British chivalry the flow'r,

Shenight

Each mighty monarch, and each champion brave; Illustrious victims of his envious pow'r,

Sunk in the dust, and crumbling in the grave:

Surveys the wrecks of genius, beauty, birth,
Whate'er might charm the eye, or win the heart;
Dissolv'd and blended with the common earth,
Or fest'ring recent from his vengeful dart.

Ah! what avails all sublunary state!

The transient pomp and pageant of a day;
Since kings and peasants, fellow slaves of fate,
When the dread summons comes must all obey.

Nor Edward's piety, nor Henry's might,

Could ward the all-subduing conqu❜ror's blow; Brave Henry fell in the unequal fight,

And Edward's pious breast soon ceas'd to glow

Nor lists dull Death to the melodious lyre,]

Nor heeds the raptur'd poet's heavenly song;
Quench'd in the dust is Milton's muse of fire,

And mute is Dryden's once harmonious tongue.

Nor Attic elegance, nor sprightly strains,

Could e'er the tyrant's lifted jav’lin stay ; Lo! here repose chaste Addison's remains,

Here jocund Prior sleeps, and here lies Gay.

Here too, sweet Shakspere, Fancy's fav'rite child,
The marble emulates thy power to please;
With graceful attitude, and aspect mild,
Expressing native dignity and ease.

Nor thy unrivall'd magic's potent charm,
Nor tender stories of ill-fated love;
Nor scenes of horror could his rage disarm,
Or the insensate spectre's pity move.

Where were ye, Graces, where ye tuneful Nine,
When Shakspere's active spirit soar'd away?
Where were ye, Virtues, when the spark divine
Forsook its trembling tenement of clay?

Alas! around his couch attendant all,

Ye saw the stroke the ruthless monster gave; Beheld (sad scene!) your darling vot'ry fall, And wept your inability to save.

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& Death

Vain are all notes, how high soe'er they rise,
All numbers vain, however smooth they flow;
Beneath this letter'd pavement Cowley lies,
And here thy reliques rest, pathetic Rowe !

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Nor sage Philosophy, that scans the spheres,
Nor soft Persuasion's soothing art avails; go
O'er Newton's tomb Urania pours her tears,

And her lov'd Campbell sad Suadela wails.

Cropt as a flow'r in blooming beauty's prime,
Lo! noble Cart'ret's urn! illustrious youth!
From age to age the hoary herald Time

Proclaims thy genius, innocence, and truth.

Alas! nor genius, innocence, nor truth,
Can in the bosom stay the fleeting breath,
Nor all the winning charms of blooming youth
Subdue thy flinty heart, obdurate Death! /

Ah me! full many a victim yet unborn,
Relentless tyrant, at thy feet must fall,
Before the dawning of that joyful morn

When thou shalt yield, and " God be All in All.”

Know, then shall come the period of thy sway,

And this reanimated dust shall rise

To hail thy victor on that glorious day,

When the shrill trump shall rend the vaulted skies.

Then from the yawning grave and op'ning tomb
Shall each reviving tenant lift his head,

And this time-honor'd temple's lab'ring womb
Resign its myriads of illustrious dead.